Logs:Stealing Tiriana
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| RL Date: 12 August, 2008 |
| Who: N'thei, Tiriana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 16, Month 6, Turn 17 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Satiet/Mentions |
| By now, of course, Tiriana knows. She must know. Hopefully she knows? At any rate, N'thei knows, and it's some time in the later afternoon on one fine summer day that he and Wyaeth arrive over Telgar Weyr. His very presence naturally sets off alarm bells, and the flaunty bronze lands in the middle of the bowl, full of swagger and spitfire, wards off questions from the watchdragon with the simple assurance that he's here to see the Weyrwoman and no one else. And that's where N'thei goes-- for no more than a quarter of an hour-- then departs. Somewhere in the mix, Tiriana is located by that time-honored means: dragon-to-dragon. Thus, the High Reaches Weyrleader arrives at the entrance to the Telgar goldrider's weyr; "Pack." And there's a lot to pack, too. Tiriana looks like either she hasn't done laundry since graduation, or like she dragged out every piece of clothing she had, from fine dresses to stained weyrling wear, and threw it around the room in her fury. Even now, she's still too wound up to be still; while Iovniath is motionless, watching from the entrance, her rider paces, wandering from one side of the room to the other, kicking at the things that get in her way. But all that grinds to a halt when Iovniath turns to stare at the invader, and Tiriana does likewise a second later, blinking, staring, and not getting any intelligible words out. "What?" N'thei glances sideways at Iovniath, just to keep tabs on where the queen is located; in the process, he has just enough time to take in the state of the room. No reaction registers in his expression. Instead, with his arms folded across his chest, with one shoulder leaning against the weyr entrance, he returns his undivided attention to the furious Tiriana and repeats with precise mimicry of his first order, "Pack." He'll just stand here and watch. Tiriana, after a couple more seconds, regains enough mental process to nudge a few unmentionables sideways, up half under a really beat-up love seat. She still doesn't quite look like she understands what's going on, though, and so demands, "What do you want?" Despite that, she still edges over toward her pretty-much-empty trunk off to the side to toss in the nearest handful of items without looking down at them. N'thei loves saying things like this; it really shows in the brief smoothing of his expression, the new brightness behind his eyes, the malevolence that colors the faint smirk he sends toward Tiriana. "Not really sure you're in a position to be demanding answers just now, sweets." The beginning of a beautiful thing here. And oh, how she wants to protest that, her own eyes narrowing and mouth tightening. After all, what's she got to lose at this point, except possibly her good looks and remaining pride? A look at Iovniath, however, seems to bite back that initial reponse, in favor of more animated packing; she shoves things into the trunk left and right. Still, "You think you can just waltz in here, to /my/ weyr, and start bossing her around?" Apparently so. Cheerful; "Do you think you can stop me." N'thei really has no intentions at the moment doing anything more than watching her pack and being smug. "You could help," but that's just petulant of her, with a sullen look over at N'thei before she snatches up more clothes and throws them in. She doesn't even bother folding or sorting, and shortly has quite the cleared space around her. Then it's time to move over and start getting stuff out of the corners and everywhere it's been strewn. N'thei observes, ever so helpfully, "You have a lot of crap." Said while he leans down and plucks a pair of undies off the floor near his feet, holds them up pinched between his thumb and his forefinger, his head tilted curiously at the article. "Don't need all this." "Hey, that's mine!" Tiriana says at once, and launches herself over N'thei's to snatch her underwear back and clutch it protectively. "Don't touch my stuff--it's not crap. You can just--you can just go somewhere else if you're going to be in the way," she orders, glowering. She even flushes, just a little bit. "In the sense that it belongs to you and you belong to the Reaches and the Reaches belong to me..." N'thei lets go of the underwear of course, drops his hand so he can fold his arms back across his chest and regard Tiriana's glaring and blushing with the amusement of a very big cat playing with a very small kitten. "That really makes it mine. But now's probably not the time to split hairs. --We're leaving in five minutes." /We/ sounds awfully final. Tiriana, shaking her head, counters with a stiff, "I do not." Except she's smart enough to know--why else would the Weyrleader of High Reaches show up and tell her to pack? Still, not letting go of her rescued underwear, she throws more stuff in the big trunk, making her way through the mess in short order for the amount there is. In the process and without looking up at N'thei again, "Why?" N'thei shrugs. For a few seconds, that seems to be all the answer he has for Tiriana. But then pity or spite or boredom kicks in; "Would think you'd know better than I would why Telgar would kick you out." Tender subject. Tiriana stiffens, twitching with the effort not to look around; she happens to shove a couple of chairs back rather harder than necessary, rather than just reaching under them for a couple of shirts. "Wasn't talking about that," she orders, with a rather definite catch in her choice, a self-pitying sniff. "Then clarify," N'thei orders right back. No, probably wasn't pity that prompted him a moment ago. "Never mind, forget it." Stubborn now, she shakes her head, and pack pack packs, admittedly in that sullen childish silence that every five-year-old has mastered. In short order, she's slamming the trunk lid down and latching it. Then, "I have to wait on R'uen." At the least, N'thei doesn't expect Tiriana to carry the trunks out all by herself. Nor does he wait to be invited to assist. He's away from the wall, across the room, reaching for the handle of the trunk almost the same instant it latches closed. "Not invited." Tiriana steps back to let N'thei handle the trunk, in a rare moment of something approaching chivalry. Her arms, meanwhile, cross over her chest, and she plants herself there with a frown. "I want him," she insists. "I'm not going. I can't go." N'thei looks down at the trunk, then looks down at Tiriana, and his thoughts are momentarily transparent: he can haul the trunk out, he can haul the girl out if it comes to that. "You are. With your dignity, I hope, but the outcome is basically the same for me either way." Trunk hefted, he turns his back to her and starts toward the exit. When he puts it that way. Tiriana looks like she has to think real hard about it, but Iovniath, at the doorway, is still watching her and after a moment the best Tiriana can do is stiffen her shoulders, lift her chin, and march after N'thei and her trunk. "Bastard," she mutters, more to soothe herself than hurt him. "Disappointing me. After all I've heard, I'd at least have expected something more clever than 'bastard.'" N'thei's handling of Tiriana's trunk is none too delicate when he drops it with a thud on the ground next to where Wyaeth, looking very impressive and bronze and powerful and a real show-off, waits in the bright-and-glaring middle of the Telgar bowl. Being a real prick. "Some things we ought to straighten out before we go." Since he has to wheel back to get the second trunk anyway. "It's been a long day," is Tiriana's defense, half-hearted at best. She chases after him, though, trying not to wince at the rough handling of her trunk, and stopping near Wyaeth to fold her arms back. Her posture's definitely wary now, when he turns back to her; for once, she keeps her mouth shut. N'thei, assuming Tiriana's following along dutifully, cuts to the chase; "Satiet's not going to tolerate your shit. Neither am I. I meant what I said about knocking your teeth out-- act like a spoiled child, and I will beat you like one." There's the ring of resignation in his voice while he spells it out, like he'd rather not, but this is no idle threat. "Know that we /chose/ to bring you to our Weyr for a reason. And I hate to be proven wrong." For once, Tiriana looks like she believes it, though she tries her very best to look tough and unaffected. Transparent as ever, she's not so successful. "What, that's not the reason?" she does ask, though, with a frown that wrinkles her forehead. "Getting to finally beat the shit out of me?" As though they've been dying for just that opportunity. N'thei might be grinning, there's that edge to his voice, but it's hard to say while he has his back to Tiriana to get her second trunk. "Could be doing that now, no need to suffer your presence at the Reaches forever just to knock you around a little." Relish the thought. Lots. Oh, she's relishing all right, with fidgeting and that unhappy scowl. "So..." she stills begins slowly, persistant even though she doesn't look or sound like she really wants to know the answer. "Why, then?" This trunk, smaller, more easily managed, is hefted up to perch on one shoulder, to be balanced and held by one hand in the front. N'thei tests this arrangement, tries the weight of it before he turns to depart Tiriana's old weyr once more. "Why what? Why take you in?" Poor little orphan. Tiriana nods once, and crosses her arms. "Yes. That," she tells him, as she trails along in his wake. "Reasons." N'thei, apt to leave it at that, trudges back across to where he left the first trunk and drops down the second one with about the same gracelessness, with his hands lowered so they perch on his hips while he eyeballs the two trunks, his dragon, then Tiriana. "Maybe I see potential in you. Maybe Satiet told me I had to do it. Maybe I just like to keep my friends close and my enemies closer. Which one sounds right to you." Tiriana, once more wincing on behalf of her trunk, tries not to think about that too much. "That one," she says, with a nod at his last--she doesn't even have to consider the other two options. "Do you even /have/ any friends to keep anywhere?" N'thei smiles. It's an expression that suits him about as well as a frilly tutu would. "You're poised to find out, aren't you. Maybe we could be friends!" Such a joyful exclamation, such a bright giddiness in his eyes, such a loud snort from Wyaeth while the dragon wheels around to make the hefting of trunks-to-straps a little easier. "No," Tiriana says at once, flatly. "We're not friends, I don't care if you--well, not if you make me go with you, or anything else, either." Just in case he was wondering. Meanwhile, Iovniath has come to join them, and she oversees the strapping of things on with watchful eyes, if less of Tiriana's visible mistrust. Manhandling things, bungling them, banging them loudly, N'thei works on getting straps to handles, with Wyaeth making things 'easy' by swinging his bony face around to eyeball this young queen. "Would you really have been happier going--" He pauses, fishes through the mental atlas for some likely destination. "Anywhere else? Tell the truth." "I was going home," says Tiriana. "To Ierne." This is not exactly an answer, and she knows it, covers it inexpertly with a waspish, "Would you be /careful/ with that?" "No." Simple question, simple answer. N'thei steps back to survey the crookedly-hung trunk, satisfied that it's probably going to survive the journey; contents may have shifted during transit. "Would you rather you were going home? Would you rather not coming with me?" Now he looks square at Tiriana; underneath the cold-hard demeanor, there's frank eagerness in his eyes-- he actually does want her there, as fucked up as that is. It's probably a good thing Tiriana didn't take the time to fold everything up, considering. She still glares, and shrugs her shoulders, doesn't meet his eager eyes as she tries to avoid having to answer that. "Does it even matter now?" She learns. Learning is good. Here's a good tip for future reference: N'thei's the only person in any conversation allowed to give half-cocked answers. "Quit being a sullen little bitch. If anyone-- /anyone/ could turn you into the woman I think you're capable of becoming, it's Satiet. If she can't, think you can slink off to Ierne with your tail between your legs, but give us the chance to do what Telgar never would have." From eager to hateful, just like that; the second trunk gets handled even rougher. Taken aback, Tiriana just stares at N'thei for a long moment. It shuts her up right nicely, though not without an affronted little look before she busies herself, wisely, with Iovniath and the gold's straps, tugging on them even after she's sure they're tight. Of course, once, despite her best efforts, her mouth insists on pulling into a faint smirk--he thinks she has potential. It's enough to soothe her bruises little ego a little bit, however the compliment is cloaked. N'thei continues like he never broke verbal stride there. "Now get on your damn dragon. You're going to want time to unplug the chimney and find some sheets for the crappy little cot in your new weyr." While mounting, he gives her trunks a good kick with the flat of his foot; ostensibly, this proves they won't come unhooked, but it probably also feels good for him. She does. Effectively shut up now, Tiriana hauls herself up on Iovniath while the gold is watching N'thei and Wyaeth with her own ruffled pride at the treatment of her rider and their things. But unlike said rider, she keeps her mouth shut from the start. N'thei deposits Tiriana and Iovniath in the dustiest and smallest of the junior goldrider weyrs, where indeed the only furniture is a very creaky cot, and the only decorations are some dustbunnies chasing each other around the edges of the room. "Welcome to the Reaches." Thunk go her trunks, and he plans to leave her there to figure the rest out on her own. No denying Tiriana's crushed to discover the weyr is just as N'thei promised. Face falling, she eyes it in most forlorn fashion, and scuffs her feet on the floor. "Fine," she finally says, with all the salvaged pride she can muster. "/Fine/. You can go now." As though he needs her dismisssal; as though he wasn't abandoning her anyway. N'thei goes now. Happily! Wyaeth is really the one with the good grace at the end; « Ain't so bad once you get used to it, sugar. Give us a holler, old boy ain't good for much more'n hauling around furniture anyways. » Iovniath is gracious, under the circumstances, with a cool, reserved answer for Wyaeth. « Oh? He is good for that. » There's just the hint of a question to those words--she doesn't believe him, not one bit. « Thank you, though. The help is appreciated. » If begrudged. « Don't mention it. » Off into the sunset. |
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